


Burial

by Imala



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: F/M, Family Member Death, Forgiveness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Realization, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imala/pseuds/Imala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still working through his own grief for all he has lost, Elfangor tries to comfort Loren when her uncle dies. At the funeral, Elfangor discovers that his two peoples really aren’t all that different after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeideal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/gifts).



To say Elfangor is alarmed by the sight that greets him as he walks through the front door is to put it mildly.

Loren - brave, strong Loren - is on the couch, curled in on herself, shaking.

“Loren!" Elfangor cries. "What is wrong?” 

Loren raises her head. Tears are running down her face.

Adrenalin floods Elfangor's system. _What has hurt her? Where is the threat?_

He longs for his tail blade...

“It's my Uncle Ezra," Loren says, cutting into his thoughts.

"Your Uncle Ezra?" Elfangor repeats.

Loren begins to cry again.

Elfangor has no idea what to do. Does Loren want him to comfort her? Or does she not want to be touched?

He picks up the box of tissues sitting on the kitchen bench and carries them over the couch.

“Has he fallen ill?” he queries softly, handing Loren the box.

Loren shakes her head, taking some tissues from the box.

“No, he’s…passed away…” Her whole body shaking.

Elfangor pulls her into his arms. She leans into him, clinging to his shirt.

“I…” Elfangor wishes that he knew the correct response. Human rituals were often confusing…but this was the death of a loved one. Was the grief caused by death not a universal emotion between all species and races?

“I am sorry for your loss, Loren.” Elfangor says softly.

Loren nods.

She cries for a long time, and Elfangor merely holds her, unsure of what else to do. He continues to hold her, even after she has fallen silent.

“Uncle Ezra was really there for Mom and my sister and I when Dad fell apart and left,” Loren explains, her voice muffled by Elfangor's shoulder. “He helped us clear the snow from the driveway and clear out the gutters when they got too full and even paid a few bills for before Mom was able to get back on her feet and get a decent job. I realized later that...that we would have starved without his help.”

There is a long silence before Loren pulls back and looks into Elfangor’s eyes.

“He means…meant a lot to me. I miss him already. Is that pathetic?”

“No,” Elfangor says quietly. “It’s quite natural.”

Loren smiles and touches his face. “You’re so good to me.”

Elfangor smiles, embarassed. What can one say in response to such a compliment? “Is there to be a burial service?”

“In two days. Mom’s told me we can stay with her. I th-” she trails off. “I think she wants us to stay with her. She needs the company. Is that okay with you?”

"Of course," Elfangor says. "Your mother is a most gracious hostess. She also believes me to be 'a nice young man.'"

And, to his surprise, Loren just laughs.

**//*\\\**

The service is large one. Almost two hundred humans, all dressed in black – Loren tells Elfangor it is the traditional colour of mourning – stand in the drizzling rain while the priest speaks of Ezra’s life and generosity.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest intones.

The coffin in lowered slowly into the ground. Elfangor notices there is an envelope at the front of the coffin which reads, ‘Daddy’. Behind it are flowers, a baseball mitt and a fireman’s hat.

“Uncle Ezra fought fires every day of his life,” Loren whispers to Elfangor as she steps forward. There are tears in her eyes.

Ezra’s wife and daughters sob quietly as they sprinkle soil on top the coffin. Loren does the same and then takes her aunt’s hand, while her sister and their mother say their goodbyes.

The procession then begins the slow walk back to Ezra’s family’s home.

Elfangor stays put, waiting for Loren to return. She and her family are speaking softly; Loren gives her eldest cousin a handkerchief.

This is not unlike an Andalite service, he thinks.

Elfangor is not sure whether to be comforted or alarmed the death rituals of his two peoples are so similar.

****//*\\\** **

Loren and Elfangor return home the next day. They are both quiet, tired down to their bones.

Elfangor feels restless, itchy, but cannot identify the cause as to why.

“I think I’ll go to bed early,” Loren says.

Elfangor nods and follows her.

That night, Elfangor dreams. It is strange and disjointed, as the dreams of most sentient species are.

He knows it is his mind – his human-Andalite mind – working through his thoughts and worries and joys. But it is also his memories.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. The bedsheets are sticking to him. He looks down beside him; Loren is still sleeping. He knows she is exhausted and wrung out. There is a faint light on her face from the streetlight outside, trickling in through the flimsy lace curtains.

There are tear tracks on her cheeks.

Elfangor swallows and gets out of bed as quietly as possible.

He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of chilled water. He looks at it blankly.

 _I will never see my parents again,_ Elfangor finds himself thinking. _As long as I live. They think I’m dead or missing in action. Did they bury me, as is the Andalite way when there is no body, or are they still searching for me, hoping I’ll return?_

The thought hits him in the chest so suddenly and with such force it leaves him breathless.

_What if they are still searching for me? Still hoping? Can they know peace if they believe I’m missing?_

Elfangor closes his eyes. They are his parents. He knows in his heart that if they believe him to still be alive, they will; never stop looking. Not until they themselves are gone.

_What have I done...?_

His parents will die and he will never know. He will not be there to return them to the earth of their ancestors. He is their only son, their only child, and he will not be there to perform the rites they are entitled to.

All because he is a coward who ran away.

Elfangor gets no more rest that night.

****//*\\\** **

Loren comes down the stairs just after dawn. She does not look well-rested.

She looks at Elfangor, slumped as he is on the louge, his eyes locked on the muted TV.

“What are you watching?” Loren asks quietly.

Elfangor blinks and looks up at her. He squints at the TV.

“I have no idea,” he admits after a moment.

Loren smiles. “Bad night?”

Elfangor sighs and nods. There is no point trying to deceive her. She can read him like a book.

She sits next to him on the couch. “Want to talk about it?”

Elfangor swallows. “I was…your uncle’s funeral made me think…made me think of home.”

“Ah,” Loren says. “I thought that might be what was on your mind.”

Elfangor smiles.

“What happens when an Andalite dies?” Loren asks softly.

“On the homeworld…”

Elfangor pauses, unsure if he should continue. Would it help Loren to hear about his homeworld and its traditions? Would it help him, knowing that he will never see home again?

“There are rites and rituals that are performed, just as was done at your uncle’s funeral,” Elfangor explains.

He pauses and looks up, checking if Loren is upset. She does not appear to be. On the contrary, she looks fascinated.

“Go on,” she says softly.

“Some…some families chose to cremate the body of their loved one,” he continues. “This is usually decided by the deceased themselves before their passing.

“But traditionally…the deceased is wrapped in a soft, white cloth, most similar to…well, to Earth cotton, I suppose. The cloth goes back to the earth, just as the body of the deceased does.

“The cloth is of the earth, just as we are, and it guards the form against disturbance as it returns to the soil.”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Loren says quietly.

“Yes,” Elfangor says. “Yes, exactly.”

****//*\\\** **

Elfangor is quiet for a few days. He cannot focus on anything.

He knows why; he can’t forgive himself.

“Death isn’t all tragedy, you know,” Loren says.

Elfangor jumps.

“I didn’t meant to frighten you,” Loren smiles.

“I apologise, Loren,” he says. “I am beginning to think I will never get used to only having two eyes.”

Loren smiles gently. Her eyes are kind, as they always are when she looks at him.

_She is so good to me..._

“When someone dies, it can really knock you off balance. It makes you think about things. But it can be about rebirth, too,” Loren says softly. “Like when you became human. Do you remember?”

Elfangor smiles slightly. It would be a difficult experience to forget as long as he lived.

“I wanted to go with you, but you insisted on going alone,” Loren says.

“I continued to pester you to let me come along, but you just smiled at me the only way you could then, with your eyes, and told me so gently that you needed your concentration.”

She touches him face; Elfangor realises his eyes feel wet and hot. Human reactions are so confusing.

“You still have those amazing eyes, Elfangor,” she whispers. “I’m so glad you were able to keep that part of yourself.

“But you’re still yourself, Elfangor, if you’re ever feeling lost. I know you must feel lost sometimes, stuck on this strange planet in an alien body married to a two-legged alien.”

Elfangor laughs. It sounds flat and dry, but it’s a laugh all the same.

“Inside, you’re still that plucky little cadet who wanted to do the right thing,” Loren says.

Elfangor puts his head in his hands. He can feel Loren’s hand on his back, rubbing gently.

“I’ve made so many mistakes,” he whispers finally. “Alloran, poor Alloran…and Arbron. And my parents. There’s no body, Loren. They will always wonder what happened to their son. It is my fault. All of it. And I feel so guilty.”

Elfangor knows he is crying, but he can’t stop the hot, salty tears from rolling down his face. Loren pulls him to her and rocks him in her arms for a long, long time.

“It isn’t all your fault,” Loren says firmly. “You were just a kid. So was Arbron. And Alloran should have known better.

“Your parents love you. They would want you to be happy. We all have regrets. We all feel guilty about something. That’s part of life.

“You need to be easier on yourself. You did the best you could possibly have done in the circumstances you found yourself in.

“Never forget that.”

Her words ring in his ears for some time.

****//*\\\** **

Elfangor knows he will carry guilt for the rest of his life. But he also knows it is part of being alive. But he needs to live, too.

In the morning, before dawn has even broken, Elfangor slips out of bed and walks down to the lake. The sunrise – with its stunning pinks and reds and yellows and oranges – reflects off the lake’s smooth surface.

In this brief moment between night and day, it looks enough like the Andalite sky that Elfangor can imagine himself at home. Performing the morning ritual with his parents’ scoop only yards behind him, where his mother and father are debating the latest election results, the holonet blasting the newsfeed in the background.

Elfangor knows many Andalites perform their culture’s many rituals for the sake social conventions, but Elfangor has always had trouble surpressing his natural Andalite optimism. He enjoys the rituals. They bring him a sense of peace.

He realises, as he looks at the sky, that he has missed those rituals.

He is no longer a warrior; he cannot perform the morning ritual he did as an aristh. But he knows there is one ritual he can perform…

Elfangor doesn’t really believe he deserves to perform this ritual yet. But he desperately wants – no, needs – to.

Elfnaogr bows his head, and begins reciting the words.

“I have made right everything that can be made right, I have learned everything that can be learned, I have sworn not to repeat my error, and now I claim forgiveness.”


End file.
